


Dog daddy comes to town

by caixa



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Secret Relationship, fluff with a hint of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 22:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14820026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa
Summary: Tuukka Rask comes home from Tampa.





	Dog daddy comes to town

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [PuckingRare2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2018) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Bruins are out, Stars were never in. How does Tyler make Tuukka feel better? In his own unique way of course.

 

Tuukka takes a cab home from the airport. He can’t use the word _glad_ of anything he is feeling right now, the air miles from Tampa to Boston not enough distance between home and loss, but at least it’s a relief not to have to drive.

It’s another relief to notice that not the whole Boston lives and breathes hockey. His driver, a fifty-something Sikh man in a FC Barcelona shirt ( _A. Iniesta_ , Tuukka spots the name across his shoulders) shows no sign of recognition: he greets Tuukka shortly as he sits down on the back seat, but during most of the drive he engages in a phone conversation that mostly revolves around the unjust refereeing in _El Clasicó_.

Tuukka leans to the naugahyde backrest of his seat and tries to clear his mind of all thoughts. It’s not that hard, the plane ride worked to mute down the frustrated post-game buzz with its remorse flashbacks and what-ifs. Now it’s just – numb nothingness. No next game to prepare for, no prize to fight for.

He feels as empty as the Lionel Messi bobblehead nodding mindlessly on the dashboard.

 

Tuukka would be lying if he said he sensed it in the hallway. He opens the door to his apartment expecting nothing to be out of the usual.

But inside – something is off.

Tuukka drops his carry-on on the floor softly. If there is an intruder, it’s better to be on the safe side of the surprise, he figures.

He tiptoes on cautiously – nothing unusual in the living room. Except – a pair of pants on a chair. Could he have left them there himself?

A shirt on a couch. A black cap on the table.

No, the pants are definitely not his.

He walks on in soft steps, picks up the cap and traces the edge with a finger and grins. After all these years, that fucking Canadian idiot never fails to bring a smile on his face.

 

Tuukka clears his throat, leaning slanted to the doorway of his bedroom. The defined muscles of the familiar pale back twitch, and the curly-haired head rises from the pillows where Tyler Seguin has been lying face down.

“H-hi,” Tyler says and brings his hand to wipe the messy curls back from where they are falling on his eyes, “You’re home.”

“I am. And you seem to have been making yourself at home,” Tuukka says, pursing his lips to look scolding. It takes some effort, because, well – he has to admit  that finding this sleepy, naked dumbass in his bed is not an unpleasant surprise.

And the little shit knows it. “I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone,” he says.

Now Tuukka frowns for earnest. “You were so sure we’d lose?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

Seggy turns on his stomach and crawls to the foot of the bed like a giant lizard. He extends his hand towards the door where Tuukka is still standing and tilts his head coyly to the side.

“Of course not, Tuuks,” he says, “I thought you’d want to celebrate the win, of course.” He wiggles his hand in the air. “Come here.”

Tuukka favors him, strolls next to the bed in slow, lazy steps, dragging his feet. Tyler crawls a bit further until his chest is over the edge of the bed and he can reach for Tuukka’s hand, lacing the goaltender’s fingers with his. The hand hangs loose, Tyler gives it a little tug, tilting his head even more and pouting his lips, and Tuukka can’t help chuckling.

“All right, dumbass,” he says. He complies to Tyler’s more severe tug by slouching down on the bed next to him. He lets his hand rest in Tyler’s and strokes the lean, toned back with the other.

Tyler, on the other hand, inches his free hand over Tuukka’s thigh to his waist and opens his belt. He goes on untucking Tuukka’s shirt bit by bit, huffing and puffing with his slowly proceeding work until Tuukka gives up pretending to ignore Tyler’s mission, untucks and unbuttons his shirt and strips it off.

Half undressed he sinks his fingers in Tyler’s hair and strokes his scalp. “So, what have you been up to here? You were sleeping,” he says.

“Uhhmmyeah,” Tyler lets out a yawn-like noise, turns to a sitting position – he’s completely naked, and half hard, which is very beautiful and very promising – and shifts himself to the head of the bed. “I –“ he starts, stretching to the nightstand and grabbing his phone –“Was talking to my babies but Marshall was sulking and they hung up. Then I just looked through their snaps and dozed off.” He wipes the phone screen alive as he speaks.

“Wait, what?” Tuukka asks, shaking his head in amused disbelief, “You seriously mean you’re FaceTiming with your labs and getting snapchats from them?”

“Sure!” Tyler says, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing to do. “It’s one of my dogsitter’s daily routines. And they’re being really good boys about it. Really good boys,” he repeats to the phone screen. Tuukka leans closer and peeks to see video footage of three dogs circling on the floor, the youngest one lifting his nose to sniffle the camera.

Tuukka gets next to Tyler and leans his back to the headboard. He covers the phone with his hand and gently presses it down from between them.

“Don’t tell me you came all the way from Texas to Massachusetts to show me dog videos,” he says.

“What’s wrong with dog vi—“ Tyler starts but cuts it off with a short, soft laughter. He draws the phone away from under Tuukka’s hand and shifts it to his other hand to grab the back of Tuukka’s head and pull his lips into a kiss.

The soft, playful, adventurous way their mouths chase each other dates back to times when Tyler was the new one, a lively kid, fresh face and dirty mind, barely out of high school and making an impact on the ice; to secret moments full of sexual tension, butt-slaps and hidden hickeys, kiss-bitten lips and snarky humor.

Tyler detaches from the mouth, moves to Tuukka’s jawbone, humming lowly as he gnaws at it. “You’re still wearing too much,” he murmurs into Tuukka’s skin and Tuukka chuckles softly.

“You’re saying that because you never wear anything,” he replies.

“You should follow the lead,” Tyler says.

“Yours? I never thought you’d be a good role model.”

“You know nothing. I’m the best,” Tyler says and moves down, freeing Tuukka expertly from his pants. Tuukka watches pleased the way the inked, strong arms frame his thighs and gasps for pleasure when the wet, tight mouth devours him in.

He knows it’s only a starter for a night-long meal and he’ll be happy to take it slow.

 

Tuukka rests sated and relaxed when Tyler crawls back up next to him, licking his lips so innocently it’s totally obscene.

“I know you lost for a reason,” Seggy says in a soft tone.

“What reason is that, asshole,” Tuukka retorts, but there’s no weight behind the insulting word.

“Remember when we visited the White House?” Tyler says.

Tuukka chuckles because yes, he remembers, what happened in one of the prestigious toilets did not only blow his dick but his mind, too.

“Yeah. Visiting the real president,” Tuukka nods. “Happy times.”

“I know you didn’t want to ruin the memory with the current one.”

Tuukka bursts out in laughter.

After all these years, his fucking Canadian idiot never fails to make his world a happy place.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate all kinds of feedback; please leave a note!
> 
> I''m caixxa and badhockeymom on Tumblr.


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